


fire and mirrors

by Myshipsank



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, also vague, punky monkey kinda, soccer cop - Freeform, way too angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myshipsank/pseuds/Myshipsank
Summary: Maybe someone will step in and gently peel back the mask she has in place to take a glance beneath, and maybe they will be able to help her heal those wounds. But not you; your trembling hands weren’t made for that task. She’s an open wound not just in her own right, but for you too, a reminder of something you’ve both lost, that missing piece.





	fire and mirrors

You know not to say anything.

It’s been a year, and sometimes the words feel like burning hot coals stuck inside your throats, but you swore to yourself then that you would never do it. And how could you? Those coals burned you, the weight and heat of them, but it was nothing compared to what it would do to her if you spoke them aloud. She’s just finally mastered the art of running from all she has inside of her, all of the aches and memories and pain and…

No, you know not to say anything, even as you wonder if you’re ending up just like her.

Maybe someone will step in and gently peel back the mask she has in place to take a glance beneath, and maybe they will be able to help her heal those wounds. But not you; your trembling hands weren’t made for that task. She’s an open wound not just in her own right, but for you too, a reminder of something you’ve both lost, that missing piece.

She’s beautiful- you know that. It almost makes you laugh how it took until this reckless action that stole her smiles to notice. You thought that maybe she was different than the rest in some sort of a way, just not quite measuring up in a way that wasn’t necessarily bad, just… different. But now you know better, you know that you’re just like her.

No, you can’t say it, but looking into that mirror is foreboding like a warning, or a memory, or maybe a little bit of both.

“I miss her too,” you whisper, and it’s just soft enough for her to ignore it if she wants, to pretend she didn’t hear it. You give her that option because, in the beginning, she didn’t have the option to ignore everything the way she does now.

She stares down into her drink unmoving, and you think for a moment that she’ll take you up on that option you extended. “Me too,” you hear, and the words are sharp like the broken glass you remember from a year ago, after Sarah had left and Alison had gripped it so right that it shattered. Part of you wonders if Alison thinks she gripped Beth too hard in the same way, squeezing so tightly out of desperation that she broke into all the sharp little pieces she left behind. You imperceptibly shake your head at the thought; it isn’t the truth, or at least not all of it.

But no, you can’t say it, even if-

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” she says, a little louder than before, but no less jagged. And your intake of breath feels like betrayal, like you don’t deserve it. “She was the good one, the one who…”

And there aren’t any more words she can say to you, not without revealing too much.

You know, sometimes fire can cauterize a wound.

“Alison, I know that…” you start, and you so badly want to help bring her to the reality, to sear a path of burning flesh into a coagulated seal so she can start to heal. It’s tempting, the coals right at the tip of your tongue.

But then she looks up at you and you can see the tears in her eyes, and you think- she knows. She knows the flames you’ve kept inside, and she’s silently prayed to the god she no longer believes in that you would keep them there. That you would burn alive so that she wouldn’t be consumed.

“Yes?” she says.

You really shouldn’t say anything.

“I know that you loved her.”

And there it is, you feel an instant relief, and cooling sensation from the pit of your stomach as you spit to fire she’s begged of you to keep inside. She is still looking right in your eyes, pointer finger lightly tapping on the wine glass in her hand, legs crossed tightly. You wonder if she’ll squeeze it again, maybe making it a yearly ritual in remembrance of the day when she lost her faith.

Maybe she won’t say anything. Sarah will probably be walking back in any moment, and though you broke your promise once already, you won’t do it twice in one night. Sarah will walk back in, and Alison would never say anything in front of her, and you will be safe. Maybe it wasn’t the moment you thought it would be.

Alison’s lips part, and it’s like neither of you breathe for an eternity until she speaks. “Yes, I did, of course I did.”

And it’s an easy out, and maybe you haven’t betrayed your own confidence as much as you thought, and maybe you should just let it slide, but you can’t. “Not like you did.”

Alison’s eyes don’t change, and you wonder if that’s new. She used to be much easier to read, and you wonder how much you’ve missed. 

“Cosima, if you’re suggesting what I think you are, then-” Denial.

“It’s okay, you know. She loved you too,” you interrupt. You can’t bear to watch her shoulder it silently anymore, and honestly, you can’t do it either. Though different, you did love her too.

There’s finally a glimmer in her eyes and you know that you’ve finally ripped it open all the way, not taking your time. She’s open and waiting, and you want to find the right way to stitch her back up again. You want to share stories, the good and the bad; you want to cry with her and admit your weakness; you want to share the silence, but not suffocate in it; you want to hold her as she trembles.

So you do it, you open your mouth to tell her the reason that you’ve said it’s okay. “I understand,” you say, and it’s admitting so much more than Alison can grasp yet, and you watch her glassy eyes try to process everything, but then time stops as the door opens and there’s no time for further reflections.

Your heart and Alison’s ache together in silence, so close to understanding one another.

Sarah enters, and she’s a fire too.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's far from straightforward in terms of writing style, and super vague, but I was having a lot of Alison/Beth feelings and it came out like this.


End file.
